*
When ravens in battle torment’s torn flesh fight…
Morvran, my horse, firm-hoofed in stance
Is indisposed to flight.
*
Splendid my saddle and bright, never sore
Polished my crown, blameless, pure.
*
When ravens over battle-field scream for strife…
Dormath, my hound, noses the green-floor
His red gaze to ground.
*
Escort am I for the grave east to west
North to south, alive am I, safe in death…
France & Vincent 
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